Living Canvas
by Krin
Summary: A broken story about Nny post comic 7. A fast, easy read. It will twist your mind, give it a try. Not romance.
1. The Live Art Museum

**Hey! Thanks for clicking on my little story-link. This is something buried in the OTS Messageboard, so after a long time I decided to post it here.  
If you review, I will thank you accordingly. **  
  
Walking down the street. Everything's so shiny and bright and it's hard to remember why I hate the world. The lamps are glowing under the snow. The children are screaming. Oh yeah, that's why.  
  
Here's the building. Live Art Museum, new deal in the city. Everyone's coming here because it's too boring inside and too cold inside. Why am I here? I can't remember. I know She would love this place. We came here once, when they were still putting the foundation in.   
  
Five bucks to get in. Not too bad. No one's really bothering me- yet. Glared at some field tripping school children. Gonna try to find the Work In Progress section. See what these artists think they're doing. See what they think is art.  
  
Living Canvas, eh?   
  
That sounds familiar. Take this hallway. Ooo, look at that. They dimmed the lights so it's creepier for all the stupid college students. Should I make creepy noises while walking down this hall? Art students. Hah. You can't learn a thing about the Living Canvas in a classroom. It takes time to be a master.  
  
Here we are. Oh look. A disclaimer. No one under twenty-one. I hope the artists have all their clothes on.  
  
Damn.  
  
Damn.  
  
Damn.  
  
**This story was/is written in funny little chunks of words. Myah. This sucker really builds up, so plllllease come back!**


	2. The Artist

An unidentified artist sat in a plastic box elevated three feet from the hall floor. She sat in the chair bending over intently, drawing with a mechanical pencil. Every once in a while she held it up, clicked the bottom of the pencil as if reloading lead, and watched with slight amusement as a white powder puffed from the end.   
  
She nodded to Johnny and pointed down in front of him. A plaque reading Push Here For Intelligent Conversation was nailed above a button.   
  
He pushed it. Uh... hello?  
  
Hi. How are you today?  
  
  
  
She scratched the pencil over her notebook, which Johnny couldn't see.   
  
What are you drawing? He asked finally, pushing the button and speaking into a glass plate with holes.  
  
Glad you asked. She held the pencil up again and clicked it. More white powder dissipated into the air. She stood and walked to the edge of the box.  
  
Then Johnny saw. She hadn't been holding a notebook. Red swirls curved around her knees and up past the edge of her shorts. The white powder was her skin.  
  
That's interesting.  
  
  
  
Why don't you use someone else for your living canvas? Johnny grinned a little.   
  
That's cheating. The girl dragged her chair over so she could talk and work at the same time.   
  
How so? What happens if you design something and don't like it later?  
  
That's part of it. Everything stays- these scars don't fade. If you don't like something you learn from it.   
  
  
  
The first one I did was for a bad reason. Never, she shook one finger at him, hurt yourself for another person.  
  
  
  
The second one was silly. The third one I did because I liked the design. That's the one I'm expanding now.  
  
The second one was silly?  
  
She pointed to the top of her thigh, a faint Z-like shape below her finger. It's a rune. It means death. It's just silly. If you're going to do this sort of thing you just have to have one that means death. She laughed a little.  
  
Johnny followed the swirls. He could tell the newest curls from their various stages of healing. That one doesn't match, he said, tapping the plastic wall.  
  
That's because that one is the first. She turned her leg so he could see the scar. It was thicker than the rest. I know it looks like a P, but it's also a rune. It means both comfort and madness. Her voice dropped. Someone was once my comfort and madness.  
  
Johnny nodded; purple hair waved around the inside of his head. He blinked the image away before he could see Her face.  
  
That was a pocket knife. A little cliched, yes. I prefer the mechanical pencil, she held it up. You can get a lot more detail in.  
  
Why? Why do that? Doesn't it hurt? How much blood do you lose?  
  
She sighed. I do it because I won't touch another person to do it. The lines are thin. Not too much blood is lost. It doesn't hurt and I like the design.  
  
Why not get a tattoo?  
  
That's cheating. And not natural. The inks are permanent.  
  
Johnny shook his head. You're crazy.  
  
Maybe that's why I'm in a box. But I think you're crazy.  
  
  
  
You're the only person who's talked to me today. She grinned and clicked the bottom of the pencil.


	3. Perfect Symmetry

**As I said, these bits are short. That's cuz ff.net won't let me put asterisks between the parts, and it's important that they have some separation.**  
  
Couldn't stay much longer. I went down the Ruined My Life hall, and there was a painting by Devi. It hurt to look at. Actually hurt. The blacks and reds clashing. I could just about see her sweat dripping in the paint, her frustration in the brush strokes. Could just about hear the words she was screaming while she painted. Could just about feel the hot anger radiating off of her body. Just about... just about... So I got out. I can find another five bucks somewhere else and then I'll look at the painting next to that one.  
  
When it's really cold, the snowflakes sparkle while diving earthward. They stay sparkly under your feet, until they're mixed with the slush and shit of the world. Crunch, crunch. I'm breaking your perfect symmetry.  
  
I'm breaking you...


	4. Ixmielle

Oh, excuse me. The woman pulled her coat more tightly around her body.  
  
Johnny looked up. He had run into some lady while contemplating his head demons. She turned to continue on her way. Johnny snatched her wrist and spun her around.  
  
What's your name?  
  
E-excuse me? Her eyes widened.  
  
Your name. Tell it to me.  
  
Snow settled into the gaps of her croquetted scarf.  
  
He felt the sting of a cold metal watch under her coat sleeve. She nodded silently. Ixmielle, what is the living canvas?  
  
The woman glanced behind him to the Live Art Museum. A-a display. There, she jutted her chin at the building. One of the galleries.  
  
Johnny shook his head. What is the living canvas out here?  
  
She drew in a quick breath. I don't understand your question. Please let go of me. Ixmielle tried to pull her wrist back.   
  
The living canvas is art in its living form. What is the meaning of life?  
  
Ixmielle pushed him away weakly, shivering. I don't know!  
  
Change. The beauty of the canvas in this case is that it completely reflects the nature of its media- change. Life is constant change. The blood in your arm, he snapped her wrist over, is now in your lungs, he snapped her wrist back. She whimpered. Is now in your brain. He pulled her forward, bashing his knee in her nose. Is now spilling onto my pants. Thanks a lot.  
  
She screamed, covering her face with her other hand. S-stop! Please stop. Ixmielle sobbed. Johnny let go of her wrist in disgust.  
  
Shut up! I'm trying to teach you something here!  
  
She started crawling down the sidewalk, leaving frozen trails of red behind her. Johnny walked alongside, continuing to talk.  
  
So life is change. You are changing as you move, now. The loss of blood at such a rapid pace will soon slow your pathetic attempt to escape me. Things will go numb. Things will change. Things will go black. Things will change. Things will become silent. Things will cha-  
  
  
  
  
  
Johnny opened his eyes. His head ached enormously. He looked around the ceiling, rubbing the back of his head. He groaned. This much pain indicated that he had slept.   
  
Meat looked down on him, two feet firmly planted on Johnny's chest. Are you done?  
  
Ehhh? Ixmielle? Johnny shut his eyes and tried to figure out what the hell had happened. He sat up. Meat fell into his lap and made a disgruntled sound.  
  
Oh, that's her name? She's over there.   
  
Her remains, half frozen, lay curled in a corner. The scarf wound serpentine away from her neck, a white and red river on the splintered floor.  
  
Meat... what? Johnny looked down at his hands. Blood crumbled from the little lines in his palms.   
  
I dunno. You screamed a whole lot of stuff about Devi and living canvases and the like. No more late night museum trips for you. Meat jumped down from the couch.  
  
Johnny hauled himself to his feet. This is what it's always like. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling the muscles scrape across each other. Disjointed... everything... happens... argh.  
  
He yawned and sat back down again. All that work, and I can't even remember what the hell I did.  
  
Meat pulled a bill from his overalls. You screamed something about five bucks.  
  
Johnny took it, folded it carefully, and tucked it into a pocket. Yeah. That will be useful later.  
  
**Mmmyeah. Let's see how that does.  
Please review! Pllllease? Hmm.**


	5. Awful Pretty

**Special thanks to the following linklies:  
diasanga: well, they don't come more flattering than that. Thanks!  
ArxSerpens: Thanks!   
Lovepuff!: This is one you haven't read yet. I'm sure it will disturb you, though.   
???- I got a review from one more person, but his/her name hasn't come up here yet, but thank you!  
And I do NOT write Mary Sues. Never ever have, never ever will.  
I'm glad I finally got some reviews on this... it was very popular on OTS, and I was hoping for some constructive critcism from ff.net.  
Read on! :D   
[as I said, there are a few chapters that are very short...]**  
  
Outside again. Hurrah, the snowflakes have shed their patterned mantles and melded together. Can't slip on the slick. I try to ignore the cold sliding up the insides of my arms and burning my shoulder blades.  
  
Up ahead there are a lot of people gasping and standing around. I push my way through the crowd, holding my breath. Hey now, that's real pretty. Really. Red rivers sealed under ice, perpetually flowing. The blood reflects twice, splitting into a rainbow of grays and crimsons.  
  
That's awful, says one woman, holding her daughter's hand tight. The little girl thinks it's pretty, too. I can tell by the way her eyes smile at the shiny sidewalk.


	6. Ruined My Life

**The POV changes a lot in this fic.**   
  
That boy is back again, standing outside my box. I offered to ask someone to get a chair for him, but he politely refused. He's watching me work. He asked me if I knew any of the artists in the Ruined My Life section. I said, yeah, too many, and laughed. He laughed too, but the sound was hollow.   
  
I can't get this curl to fit around my calf. I knew I should have brought my hand mirror today. It's very uncomfortable to bend sideways like this and attempt to make a perfect spiral. After a few more minutes, I decide to take a break. He's still there, standing thoughtfully with one hand tucked under his chin.   
  
When he finally realizes that I'm done for now, he hits the button. Do you know Devi D? he asks quietly. Sadly. I watch his face as I tell him that I do not. There is a quick flash of sadness, then relief, then the return of the studious gaze.  
  
I cross my legs and lean against the wall of my box. They forgot to dim the lights today and it's getting hot. I'm about to ask him if he wouldn't mind getting a museum person for me when he hits the button and asks, what is your favorite part of the medium?  
  
I sit back for a moment. Hmm. I've never been asked that. I look down at my legs. The oldest scars are still visible, with tiny vertical lines within the shapes. The newest ones are bleeding an exact mirror-image onto the shorts of my crossed legs. I wear white, always, new shorts each day. They will comprise their own gallery in time.  
  
I guess it's that... what I'm doing is real. It reflects things that happen in life. You get hurt, you bleed, you heal. It leaves a mark. You can look back and remember. You can try to learn from it. It never changes.  
  
He looks up sharply at that. Never changes?  
  
No. Everything's permanent. The past is fixed, and you can't do anything to change it. Just let it heal and fade. I point to the P scar, which I know I've already explained to him.  
  
Now he looks distraught. I ask him what's wrong. He asks if I've seen the sidewalk a few blocks down. I say no. He sticks his hands in his pockets.  
  
Well, I thought, he leans against the wall, too, but away from me, that the canvas was a representation of the changing nature of life.  
  
I tilt my head, spinning the mechanical pencil between two fingers. That's one interpretation, I guess. If the Living Canvas is a symbol to you of change, then yes, I suppose. But it has always been static to me. Everything that's done is done once, and can't be changed.  
  
He seems very dissatisfied with that. I can tell that his frustration comes from an inability to articulate what he needs to say. I recognize this because I've felt it often.  
  
Life is change, he states. I nod. The blood in your body circulates until you give it a way out.  
  
And that is where the changing- the living- ends. Once it's out, it's not going back in. My form of expressing the Living Canvas is, ironically, taking life from it.  
  
He looks at me funny. So it's not a celebration of life?  
  
Not really, except to share how one may manipulate one's skin into a pretty design. That's why I won't do it to another person; that's not fair. That's cheating.  
  
He looks at me some more, mumbles a non-distinct goodbye, and turns away. I watch him leave and hope one of the museum guards brings lunch soon.  
  
**Please review!**


	7. Instant Isolation

**Okay, thank yous go to ArxSerpens (and thank you for reviewing my other things! happy smiles) and Kyro. Thanks!   
This one has parts way too short to make into different chapters. I'll just separate them with bolded ZZZZZ?'s...**  
  
A group of little kids are playing on the line of blood, jumping and laughing.  
  
Oh shit. I don't remember coming outside. I meant to go see more of Her work. More in the Ruined My Life section. Ruined My Life...  
  
The little girl from before is singing a song. Some rhyming thing about falling asleep and not waking up until the snow stops. Sounds stupid. Sounds childish. Sounds good.   
  
Everything that's done is done once, and can't be changed.  
  
The living canvas isn't a fucking memory book. Why is the snow hot? Shit, tears. Rub them away. The little kids are staring at me. I stare back.  
  
Hey mistah, says one little kid, snot running down his face. You look real sick, mistah.  
  
Yeah, I'm real sick. You better stay away or you might catch it! Augment the threat with bared teeth and claw-like hands. Hee hee. I love how they run away- so floppy and slow in their snow clothing.  
  
**ZZZZZ?**  
  
The little girl with the pigtails walks up to me. She holds my hands, looks up into my face, and says, Instant isolation. BAM! The entire planet is devoid of humans. There remains the singular, a human, wandering. Stupid fool. Ah well. The mountain lions will make the human into something more delicious.  
  
**ZZZZZ?**  
  
Hey. Hey! Wake up, you bum.  
  
Someone's kicking me. Ow. Owwww. I open my eyes.   
  
Street lamps are on now. Blurry unamused man glaring down. He's still kicking me, though I have shown obvious signs of consciousness. I groan.   
  
Get out of my way!   
  
I crawl to the edge of the sidewalk. He watches me. You should be happy, I probably saved your life. Falling asleep in the snow. He shakes his head and continues on his way.  
  
I can't feel anything. My arms are so numb. Now that I can actually feel the lack of feeling, I'm amazed I moved at all. I pull my legs under my body, slightly alarmed by the cracking noises.   
  
A kid with headphones on tosses a quarter at me. It clicks against my frozen skin. the word can't leave my throat. It's stuck there. Under the numb, I feel irritation. It's foreign and far away. I sit, observing it. Seems like the emotion is hovering just beneath my gut. Wait. Wait. Wait.


	8. Epic Fats

**Who likes Devi and Tenna?!?!?!?**  
  
So I got Epic Fats' put up, Devi motioned with her mittens excitedly. Tenna squeaked.  
  
I love that one! Hee hee! You even put Spooky in the corner for me.  
  
Nnnn... yeah. Devi rolled her eyes. She brushed some snow off her arm, wishing the Live Art Museum was closer to her apartment.  
  
Thank you, Devi, Tenna squeezed Spooky's head so the little painted teeth moved up and down. It was tricky to do, as she had tied a tiny scarf around Spooky's neck.  
  
Argh. Get that out of my face. Anyway, they said that the general public really liked she stopped, stared across the street, stuck her arm out to stop Tenna, ignored the cry of pain she produced, and flattened the two of them against the wall of the building they were currently walking past.  
  
What the he-  
  
Shh! Shut up! Oh shit! Fuck! Shitfuckohshitohmygodfuck!! Devi realized how much noise she was making and stuffed her mittens into her own mouth.  
  
Tenna's eyes got big. After a minute, she ventured a whispered,   
  
Devi removed the mittens from her mouth, spat out snow and fibers, and pointed across the street. That's him, she whispered.  
  
Tenna squinted. The frozen bum?  
  
Yes! Oh shit. That's him!  
  
Spooky reappeared on Devi's shoulder.   
  
Devi knocked it off. She hissed involuntarily.  
  
Tenna's eyes darted. I wanna see!   
  
No! No-  
  
Tenna ran into a circle of light from a street lamp and squinted, shading her eyes.   
  
Oh god. No! Come back here! Now! Devi stamped her foot. Now! Bad Tenna!   
  
Aww. But he so skinny! And frozen. Tenna tilted her head, indicating a thought was possibly being processed. I think he's dead.  
  
Yeah, right. Devi crept up to the circle of light, always watching the curled figure across the street. She clamped her hand down on Tenna's shoulder and prepared to haul her backwards. He moved. Devi froze. A faint snaked out between her clenched teeth.  
  
He had lifted his head. Devi was certain he was watching them. Damnit, Tenna! Devi started walking her friend slowly out of the circle of light.   
  
He reached out one arm, gloveless, a sick shade of blue.  
  
Shit! Runnnnnnn! Tenna almost fell over at Devi's sudden burst of speed. Devi ran haphazardly, sliding on the ice and cursing. Tenna shrieked with glee.  
  
As they ran, Devi thought she heard his voice, ragged at the edges.   
  
**Please review! :)**


	9. Loofah on a Stick

**Thanks to Lovepuff and ArxSerpens!  
This is another short chapter.**  
  
OooooOOOooo... Johnny boy...  
  
I'm lying down. I can't see, there's a lot of steam. The air around my body is funny: it's too thick. I start to sit up. I push off the ground, but it's curved and slick, so I fall back down. The thick air is very hot, clinging to my skin. Clinging to my clothes.  
  
C'mon, get up.  
  
That's Meat's voice. I go to rub my eyes, but my hands are dripping with water. What the hell? I stare at them dumbly; they're covered with blotches of pink and blue.  
  
Don't drown. Meat is standing on a short wall, rubbing my face with a loofah on a stick. I didn't know we had a loofah on a stick. You're in the tub. Keep your mouth above the water.  
  
I raise my arms up again and watch the water run down the folds of my sleeves.  
  
Next time you go out, wanna take a coat? He sounds acutely annoyed.  
  
I lie down until the water covers my ears, look up through the steam, and follow the cracks in the ceiling with my eyes. They fade and join and fade and split and fade and fork. The water is so warm the edges of my limbs are stinging. I sigh and lace my fingers together over my chest. How'd I get here?  
  
How do you get anywhere? If you don't remember, then it's not worth remembering. Meat throws the loofah on a stick at me, and I watch it float down to my feet. Oh good. I had the sense to take those boots off before I climbed into the water.   
  
You know, says Meat, his voice starting to fade like the ceiling, that girl is still in the living room. Would you mind moving it out of there?


	10. ugly boy

**Another broken chapter.**  
  
ugly boy  
  
Johnny stared down at his thigh. When the hell had this happened?!  
  
ugly boy  
sick boy  
on the inside  
on the outside  
broken boy  
  
Someone, he wasn't sure who, had written the little poem on his thigh. Umm... yeah. He rubbed at the ink. It smeared readily. Where's that loofah?  
  
**ZZZZZ?**  
  
And you thought the doughboys were bad, Meat shook his head, scrubbing the floor with a paper towel. Turns out you're pretty messed up yourself, aren't you?  
  
Johnny watched the little hallucination, vaguely wondering if he was actually cleaning the floor, as a hallucination surely couldn't pick up a paper towel. He looked down at his arms. He wasn't scrubbing the floor. Yep. Just sitting.   
  
How come this keeps happening? Johnny traced the folds of the piece of paper he'd found when he'd walked into the room. He hadn't opened it yet.   
  
Meat readjusted the apron he had put on over his burger costume. What keeps happening?  
  
Losing time. Doing stuff I don't remember. I find myself outside when I didn't know I had left. I wake up in the fucking bathtub without remembering how I even got home.  
  
Oh, that reminds me, Meat dug his chubby hand into a pocket. This must've been on you. It was in the drain after you got out. He flicked a quarter at Nny.  
  
Johnny caught it in one hand and rubbed it between his thumb and first finger. Yay. I'm rich. He looked over its shining edge to Ixmielle, her frozen face still locked in horror. This is just enough for one phone call, he said softly.   
  
Flicker. Her face. Hooded shirt black on couch- purple hair! Whipping through- nearing face and happiness- fleeting- bleeding mirror shards grotesque painnnnnnnnnnnnnnn   
  
Nny pounded the sides of his head.   
  
Maybe you're more than just an abandoned wastelock, Meat edged around the scarf, still trailing across the hardwood slats. Maybe you're an accumulation place for The Weird.  
  
The weird what? Johnny stuffed the quarter into his back pocket, hoping he'd forget about it like he forgot most things.  
  
  
  
Meat continued in silence. Ixmielle didn't object when he broke her eyelids off attempting to shut them. Nny shrugged and unfolded the paper.  
  
'I hate the sweat and the tears. The various fleshes. The things that must be cleaned. I hate it all. There are tons of ways to get out of your mind, but only one way to get out of your body.'  
  
Yeah, that sounds like you, said Meat.   
  
Well, I guess that's good. Nny squinted at the paper doubtfully. 'I know I want to die. I know I always want to die. So... I'm trying, ok? Trying. No one can stand you, not even yourself. Your own flesh repulses you. You'll never let anyone touch you, and you'll never let anyone love you. If that's not already death, I'd really like to know what is.'  
  
  
  
Johnny heaved himself off the floor. I think I need to take a walk.  
  
**ZZZZZ?**  
  
The dumpster resonated, a hollow dull sound. Johnny tucked the fringe of the scarf under the edge of the metal flap. Get in there, he pushed it with the tips of his fingers. Satisfied, he tapped the top of the dumpster. Bye, Ixmielle.  
  
**Review, damnit! I mean, please. :)**


	11. The Culturalist

**Special thanks to the following: ArxSerpens, Rinny Z, and twisted Niki.  
The entire Museum is an OC. Heheh. Enjoy!**  
  
The Nebulae Are Breathtaking In That While You Are Admiring Them In The Cold Void Of Space The Vacuum Surrounding You Makes Your Lungs Explode  
  
Nny giggled. This was definitely one of his favorite paintings so far. He was in the basement of the Live Art Museum, which, instead of holding modern artists' work or even the artists themselves, exclusively featured the works of one mid 90s writer/artist/culturalist. Nny had purposely not read his or her name, preferring to think of the person anonymously.  
  
_I'm a self aware suicidal. It's so irritating. The only thing separating me from the knife is Knowledge._  
  
Hmm. Interesting. This was one of the many quotes placed randomly around the paintings, pictures, collages, and other visual media crammed on the wall. Me too, I guess. A framed poem caught his eye.  
  
Do not break the delicate  
arrangements I'm making for you.  
You won't be sad.  
You will be very happy.  
You will agree the wait was worth it.  
his ear lying on my right  
nose touching my shoulder short black hair  
he thinks a lot when he's w/ me  
he's waiting too  
so far away  
he seems younger though  
he's the only one who can make me move  
press my lips against his ear wordless  
white nightgown defining smell  
  
Nny's insides twisted. The scrawled poem was half in italics, indented strangely. I feel like I'm in your head, he touched the paper frame. Well, it's better than mine.  
  
The next room took him by surprise, one entire wall a photograph. It was pointillated black and white, each huge spot of ink dwarfing Nny's palms. Johnny stood in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to make out the subject of the massive portrait.  
  
A young man of Middle Eastern descent, stepping out of what appeared to be glass doors, to a shop perhaps? Clean shaven, pulling his coat together, eyes smeared black looking down, mouth slightly open and curving into a laugh. A candid shot.   
  
On the wall directly across was the caption, painted in the largest font Nny had ever seen.  
  
P.R.J. 2/17/97   
PERHAPS YOU'VE NOTICED THE FOCUS OF THIS ROOM  
IT IS THE FOCUS OF MY LIFE  
I LOVE YOU!!!  
  
Scrawled under it, directed to the viewer in red:  
  
Who do you love?  
  
Johnny crossed his arms over his stomach and headed for the stairs.  
  
**Please review! :)**


	12. The Sound Witch

**Thanks to the following linklies for their reviews:  
ArxSerpens, Lovepuff, anonymous, and Monkey From Beyond The Moon.  
Hehehe. I am posting two chapters at once because they're each too short to be alone, but they have to be separated, or else they fight.  
Look at me any way you want, haha. Oh well. Enjoy!**  
  
Sound Witch Experience Chamber  
  
It was on the way to the science building when the hallucinations finally clicked. I heard the sound first, a repeated clacking of something against something. And then I saw the sound- I saw it. Large orange stones striking each other. As I got closer to the doors, I saw that a woman had exited with a rolling suitcase, the wheels jutting over the brick sidewalk. The vision stayed with me for a while, those orange stones clacking in my head.  
  
It started a long time ago, when I used to lie in my bedroom with the lights off and the radio on. There was a song, a horrible pop conglomeration that repeated over and over without meaning or depth. Something about love, contrived love. The girl's voice was dismissible, but one of the synth sounds in the background burst out from the dismal melody. It was a silver ball of spikes, breathing in and out, expanding and contracting against a dark blue void. Since then, I've seen every sound I've heard.  
  
**ZZZZZ?**  
  
Johnny watched the screen. The swirling shapes pulsed and dived to the music. The Sound Witch caption glowed faintly at waist height. He had chosen this room because it blasted the senses he cared to perceive; there was music, there were pictures. He waited for it all to short-circuit his brain. He felt his insides twitching and burning.  
  
The screen flashed. Johnny looked up.  
  
MOVE!  
  
Woah, that's subtle, he muttered. The words appeared every half second or so, strobe lighting the room to the music. Johnny felt the edges of his eyelids convulsing. The speakers in the corners of the room were shaking. Yeah, I'll move. Mmmyep.


	13. Annihilation

Annihilation.  
  
So that's what it was called.  
  
Johnny peered at the large painting, twisting his lips and chewing on the inside of his mouth. It still hurt to look at. The black and red cut around the canvas, jutting into the air beyond the edge of the frame. Johnny could feel the anger seeping from the red curlicues and the black fronds. Swirling to hell, he thought. He sighed.  
  
Undoubtedly, this was a result of their last meeting.  
  
He took two giant steps, turned his back to Annihilation, and looked at Epic Fats. All of Devi's usual symbols were in there; he recognized them from their various artistically inclined discussions. The eye, the alien, the decaying city buildings, the pudgy white on black skeleton, the hideous characteratures, the grotesque demon monsters that always looked like zombie children to Johnny, and some new ones.  
  
A vile looking dolly with knives for feet. A suit of armor that seemed to be made of Cheerios. A huge fat woman, after whom he presumed the painting was titled. A burning building with a plane tail poking up from the wreckage. Some very strange symbols were etched into the corner, around a long shadowy figure. Johnny squinted at the symbols. They looked like they could be letters, stretched out top to bottom. He squinted. He knelt in front of the painting and looked up.  
  
A string of numbers.  
  
His phone number!  
  
The shadowy figure was clear. Skinny male in black, with a huge void in his chest. Hmm. Bet that's me. Johnny stuck his hands into his pockets. In fact, I'll bet a shiny quarter, he retrieved the coin and pushed it into the thick paint, into the hole where his heart should be, that's me.  
  
The quarter stuck. Johnny stood and regarded the stretched numbers sadly. He glanced down the hall. Devi had a few more paintings and some blank places for filling, and other people's things hung on the rest of the walls.  
  
I think I'll go now, before I forget what's going on and end up at home without knowing how I got there.  
  
Johnny ignored the stares of the people behind him and pushed his way to the exit. As his hand touched the door handle, a little girl's voice sang down the hall, ugly boy, sick boy- Johnny shook his head hard and heaved the door open.  
  
**Please review! I know these are short, but that's just how the story came out. Ah well.**


	14. And it feels like

**Thanks to the following!  
ArxSerpens, Rinny Z, Zam, Evil Pancake, and Jhessica.  
This story originally was posted at the Over The Stars messageboard. The main site is now an archive of old fanfics (I have a bunch there that I might slowly import to here).  
The chapters are short because every once in a while I'd be in the right mood to write Johnny stuff, and I liked condensing everything. Sorry if it's hard to tell who's talking, that's just part of the fic. I'm going for- you should be able to tell who's talking, or I failed writing their character.  
Enjoy!**  
  
And it feels like some part of my conscience should be saying, ironic, the way to keep you grounded is to look up. But there's no one there. No one says it. I guess I just think it.  
  
I stare at the tv. Hours on end. Infomercials, soap operas, daytime talk shows. Then the media curves into the cartoons and the tv and the shitty cop shows. Sometimes scenes from my life meld in, and I get confused because I don't think I've ever been on tv. I see the news, I see our cliff. I see the news, I see Her face. Everything blurs into shuddering blue pixels. At first it's soft, and I don't notice my eyes slowly crossing into themselves and my brain rotting. I stare through the tv; the pictures are swimming. Suddenly I'm up. I need to move.  
  
I go outside. And the air- my god, it's so clean. I breathe out and all the garbage is gone. And I look up. And the stars are the only things that're real. They are the only thing that reminds me what reality is, or what my reality is. Some are white, others are blue. A few are yellow or red. The Big Dipper swings right over my house. The Seven Sisters are a faint blur between Cassiopeia and Orion. My god, I can breathe. Life is real again. I am lost in the blackness. Look at the void, sometimes you can break it with your own pinprick of light. I am lost.  
  
Then it sets in. Those are the stars. I ache inside. I want to go there. They're so clean and pure and far away, burning and burning and burning. I'm born a thousand years too early. I want to get off this rock. I want to see the stars. I want to see the stars I want to see the stars I want to see the stars-  
  
I have a feeling I'll be waking up soon.  
  
**Thanks for reading! Reviewy?**


	15. Electronic Diary

**Okay, thanks to the following linklies for their reviews:**

**Anarchy-MaRiE-13, Morbid-Realism, and insane-vegetarian.**

**I'm posting two chapters together again cuz, as you know, they're kinda short. On a personal note, this is the first update I'm doing from my new computer, and from MS Word, so hopefully everything will work out okay. **

1:52am

Tenna gave me this electronic diary thingy yesterday. I finally got around to opening the plastic wrap- I had to use my teeth because she took my good meat-carvin' knife. I said I didn't want to know why she needed it.

So now I'm strumming my fingers across the screen, wondering how much I'm really gonna write in this thing and how much I can stand to write. I saw him the other day. That little shit- he was in the streets, reaching out to me. I mean, I was across the street and he looked like his ass was frozen to the concrete, but I'm sure he could get up and and and

and I'd just have to pound his face in again, wouldn't I?

God, I'm tired. I'm afraid to write what I really wanna write. Maybe Tenna put one of those spy software bug things in this diary so she can read what my brainmeats say. Wait, that's crazy. Tenna said, "if you're not going to get out more, you should at least let your HEAD out more," and handed me this nice little deal. It's thin, thin as an outstretched palm, but about as big as a laptop. Maybe it is a laptop, hell. I wonder if she expects a thank you card...

2:07am

Enough of this bullshit. I gotta get this outta my head. I can always delete it later- especially if she put that spy bug thing in here.

Right now I want to cry. There's really no reason, other than I am remembering how happy, how fucking, sickeningly HAPPY he made me. There is only one human on this planet who's made me cry, and it's him. And I mean CRY. Cry with all the emotional crap people've been writing about for ages.

I was fine before, you know, starting to leave the house again. I even got a nice little exhibit in the new art museum (fuck! half the art there is influenced by him in some way). But seeing him there, that pathetic little...

little...

Fuck!

Maybe some of that random word writing crap will get me out of my head. Ahem. lightning shock wave screaming women darkness falling bloody water no escape lightning-

Not working. Need to stop thinking and start sleeping.


	16. Schrodinger's Cat

**Thanks to the following for their reviews!**

**Insane-vegetarian, Rinny Z, Lil'Inu-Yahsa, and Krimzon 1.**

**I broke one of my own rules in this chapter- can you find it?**

It's an odd thing to open your eyes in the morning and feel like Schrodinger's cat. Not because you'd been awake the whole night fighting head demons with your eyes closed, but because you don't know if you're alive or dead.

"What the hell are you talking about, Meat?" The room slowly swims into proper orientation. There are the vertical blinds, the horizontal floor.

The plastic man sighs. "Schrodinger's cat? You know, the quantum kitty?"

Nny groans and softly bangs his head against the wall behind him. "When did I get home last night?" He smells blood.

"The situation is this," Meat spreads his arms and ignores Johnny. "You've got a cat in a box. There's no opening except for one, in the side."

"I remember the stars, but nothing afterwar- where are these cuts from?"

"The hole's big enough for a hammer. There's a little glass bottle of gaseous poison under the head of the hammer. The cat's just hanging around in there, wondering when the hell feeding time is."

"Oh shit! Who wrote this?!"

"The hammer's hooked up to a Geiger counter, which is pointed at a little piece of radioactive material. When it gives off-"

Nny jumps up. "Fuck! Look at my arm!" He waves it around. "Someone carved stuff into it!"

"-an emission at random, the hammer comes down and BAM! The bottle smashes open and kitty dies from the toxic fumes." Meat grins.

Nny runs into the kitchen and scrubs his arm under hot running water.

"The thing is," Meat calls, "if you're standing outside the box-"

Gritting his teeth, Johnny wraps a long piece of stained cloth around his arm. He ties it tightly and pulls the ripped shirt sleeve down over it.

"-and you don't know if the Geiger counter's gone off-"

UGLY BOY

"-and you can't see what's going on inside-"

Nny enters the room again and slumps down into the couch. Meat turns to face him.

"Is the cat alive or dead?"

**Please review. There are only 2 more chapters left in this story, as I technically never finished it, but... oh blah. By the way, it's written in present tense.**


	17. Blood At The Museum

**Thanks to the following for reviewing:**

**Insane-vegetarian: I'm glad you've enjoyed my stories. Thank you!**

**First Officer of General Mayhem in the Cult of Witty Darkness (aka Yunie): Thanks for da review! And for reading a fic of mine what wasn't J&D- even though it has all those swears in it. Tsk. Hehe**

**QOTSAfreak: Thanks! I'm glad you've liked it. Tell all your friends... wahaha.**

**Jhessica: Thanks! And also for the emaily review.**

**Rinny Z: Thank youuu! For all your reviews and stuffs. The cat is considered neither dead nor alive, until you open the box and find out.**

**This is another one of those really short chapters. Enjoy!**

11:48pm (early!)

Shit. Shit. Shit!

Oh my FUCKING god- it was him, I just know it. I know it, I know it!

It's all over the tv tonight. A girl at the museum... they found her body inside her glass cubical. Blood was everywhere. She had this look on her face... fuck! Like she had the worst death possible. Her eyes were like that frozen look they always go for in movies, only this was real. They were frozen, and her mouth was open, and you could see bits of the intestines he'd forced up through her esophagus. The glass walls were smeared with the shit...

Fuck! I don't think I can go back there, now.

Fuck you, Johnny!!! Fuck you!! I loved that museum and you ruined that for me, too!

**please tell me you know who's talking here...**


	18. Push Here For Intelligent Conversation

**Thanks to all of you who've read so far. This story is not done, and it will never be done. I call this the last chapter because it is the last one I've written, and I'm not likely to write any more. But if I do, I will post it here. And if you haven't forgotten about it, you will see it. Enjoy!**

"-was found early yesterday morning in the Living Canvas section of the new Live Art Museum on Forty-fourth and Pacific. The 24 year old is survived by her father, step-mother, and two siblings. They pleaded last night for anyone with any information to come forward. Memorial services will be held at Trinity Triumph, and the procession will close down portions of the White Bridge later today-"

"Tsk tsk," said Meat.

"What?" Nny was nailing the wooden plaque, Push Here For Intelligent Conversation, over the tv.

"Don't you see what you're doing?"

He shrugged. His hair stuck out at all angles, stinking of body fluids. He squinted and aimed the hammer. The last nail was in. He looked at the sign and then the tv. "It's a bit ironic, really."

Meat sighed and clicked the tv off. "You're going through the same old shit," he said, hopping onto the couch. "This is another cycle. You haven't gotten anywhere, Johnny."

"Shut up," Nny waved him away and threw the hammer down into the cellars.

"You're not listening." Meat grinned. "This is the part where you really want to listen, Johnny."

"Stop saying my name like that." Nny jumped onto the couch. The springs in the cushions broke through the outer fabric.

"Think about it. What's all this for, anyway? You killed that girl, and she had been so nice to you."

"Nice?!" Nny pulled his shirt sleeve up. "You call this nice? What the fuck kind of nice is that?"

"You did that, not her." Meat retied the makeshift bandage.

"How do I know that for sure, huh?" Nny yanked his arm away. "I don't remember doing it, and you didn't say anything about seeing me do it-"

"Actually, I did see you do it-"

Nny squinted one eye dangerously. "Why didn't you say something? Stop me next time! Now I've got this fucking permanent thing-"

"You're missing the point! Do you know why you did it? Do you understand the motivation for the continuation of this cycle?" Meat climbed on Nny's lap and pulled his eyelids up and out.

"Aaugh!" Nny threw the plastic figure across the room. "What the fuck was that for?!"

"That woke you," Meat rubbed the back of his head. "Now listen to me Johnny, LISTEN. You have to realize what you're doing."

Nny raged around the room, kicking the walls and howling at the blood that dripped down from the corners of his eyes. Meat waited.

"What," Nny punched the couch, "what the fuck is it you need me to realize?"

"You find something beautiful, and then you destroy it."

"_That's_ your all-powerful statement of the night?" Nny screamed. Spit ran down his chin. "I already knew that! That's my fucking job, it seems!" He ran his thumbs across his bleeding eyes.

"Exactly!" Meat smoothed his apron. "It was your job. It's your job now. You haven't changed a thing! You thought you were a slave to some ridiculous monster, which did have its own place in the scheme of things, but you're really only a slave to your own internal drives. Can't you see? _You haven't changed._"

Nny shook his head in disgust. He ripped the cushions off the couch and lay on the hard support beneath.

"You need input, Johnny. You're screaming for it. What do you think I am? I'm the embodiment of all that must be expressed. You continue to only give your own demons the chance to emerge."

Nny traced one finger over his sleeve, frowning.

"This is Devi all over again. She made you happy. Going to that museum made you happy. Watching the stars makes you happy. But there's something in you that won't let you just enjoy it. You have to go out and destroy all happiness, before it even gets a chance to take root."

Nny pulled his sleeve back. The bandage was starting to rot with blood; some his, some not.

"Do you know what happens to a stagnant pool of water?"

"Fuck you," Nny said quietly. He looked up at the ceiling. It ran funny; gray with slim streaks of red. It seemed familiar.

"It becomes filthy. A small pond needs to be cleaned and replenished often- whether by the rains or small streams."

"I'm not a pool of fucking water." Nny turned his back to his hallucination. He felt numb and empty, as if Meat had pulled something other than his eyelids from his face.

"It's a metaphor. You've been by yourself for too long. You need others, Nny, and not in the way you've been taking them for these past years. You manufacture your own poison."

Nny scoffed and curled one arm under his head. The back of the couch was filled with little winding holes. A tiny black insect darted from one to another.

"Do you remember what we were talking about the other night?"

Nny made a noise. Another insect darted out. He smashed it into the wood with the heel of his hand.

"We were talking about how living isn't really living if you're the living dead."

"Oh god," Nny rolled his eyes and then winced at the pain.

"Living and freedom, it's all intertwined. Are you truly living if you're not free from the things that chained you before? You've neglected parts of yourself for too long." Meat spread his arms. "One last time, are you alive or dead?"

"I don't really care right now." Nny watched the holes for glimpses of black. His stomach felt faintly ill.

Meat was silent.

Nny squished a few more insects.

Push Here For Intelligent Conversation.

Nny's vision blurred. He hit the couch harder. Bits of wood broke off.

_The meaning of life is change._

Splinters bit into his knuckles, his palms, his arms- whatever he was using to smash the wood.

_Everything that's done is done once, and can't be changed._

"Shut up!" He pounded with both fists. Little insects crawled over his arms and stained the bloody bandage with their bodies.

If everything that's been done can't be changed, then life can't be everything that's been done. Life can't be doing the same thing over and over and over and over-

"Yes! You've finally got it, Nny!"

Pound-pound-pound- He pounded the stars and Ixmielle's scarf and the little girl with the pigtails and Her face and the glass walls and the crimson that ran down them and the skinny black figure with no heart-

The back of the couch collapsed. Wood crumbled into his face and dried his throat, cutting his screams hoarse. He coughed up splinters and minute crystals of water treatment chemicals.

"Well," Meat walked over and brushed filth off Johnny's forehead. Nny panted, tongue covered in dust. Red tears ran into the curves of his ears.

He sat up and rolled onto the floor, heaving. The bandage had ripped away. He shut his eyes against the letters of skin and scab. "I don't think dead people feel this shitty."

**Finivit**


End file.
